The Wallpaper
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: The true explanation as to why Mrs. Hudson has such strange wallpaper. Written for a crackfic prompt at LJ's sherlockbbc comm.


"Ah, good afternoon. Mrs. Hudson, is it?"

The landlady peered around the side of the door ad looked the visitor up and down. "Yes, what can I do for you, Mr…?"

The man at the door sniffed pretentiously, and swung his umbrella in an equally, if not elegantly, pretentious manner.

"Sherlock sent me-"

"Heavens, they're only for my hip!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Mrs. Hudson pointed to her waist emphatically. "They're _herbal soothers_!"

"That's lovely, but-"

"You can't arrest me for following doctor's orders!"

The man rolled his eyes. "Certainly not. Sherlock sent me-"

"Oh, dear. He told me the police liked drugs busts and-"

"-to pick out his wallpaper."

The landlady's eyes grew impossibly huge. "_Wallpaper? _You mean-"

The man flicked his umbrella again, this time in more of a vexed, yet still ostentatious manner. "Yes. That paper-like substance that covers walls."

"You mean…Sherlock wants the police to choose his wallpaper?"

"Oh, _bloody hell_."

A brief, strained silence passed. The man glared down at the landlady. The landlady looked back up at the man. The umbrella sat in frustration, having no eyes to stare off into the distance in consummate boredom.

The man took a deep breath. "My name is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older,-" he swung the umbrella gracefully over his shoulder, "-snazzier brother."

"Oh! Oh, dear! I'm terribly sorry! Do come in, Mr. Holmes."

"Mycroft, please."

"As you like it, dear."

She led the way up the stairs in a fluster of floral dress and tumbling words, followed closely by Mycroft, who seemed fascinated with whacking everything in sight with his umbrella. They soon reached the sitting room, and the elder Holmes gave an even deeper pretentious sniff in disgust at the sight before him. After having a sudden, violent coughing fit from said sharp inhalation of air, Mycroft cleared his throat.

"No, no, no. These white walls won't do."

Mrs. Hudson returned with a tray stacked with teacups and clattered them onto a side table. "Do for who? No one lives here, dear."

Mycroft winced at the repeated term of endearment. "I have gathered that my younger brother is to rent these rooms starting…oh…in a few days?" He added the wall to his umbrella-poking list, and then moved to poke the chairs in the flat.

"Oh, yes! Goodness, has something happened? Will he still come?"

Mycroft had shifted to prodding pillows. "Yes. He has sent me on a mission, if you will, to ask you a favor. One more request, that is."

"Oh, anything for dear Sherlock," the landlady chirruped, still fiddling about with the tea and sugar.

Mycroft's mouth slowly spread into a conniving smile. "He wishes to have floral wallpaper. Preferably something frilly, curly, pretty, and positively effeminate in a sort of repeating, stamp pattern all over the place."

Mrs. Hudson beamed him a smile from across the room. "Of course, dear. I can arrange that."

The elder Holmes clapped his hands delightedly. "Oh, that would be grand! He'll be thrilled! As a boy, he always did love picking flowers and painting pretty little fancy-schmancy things all over his bedroom walls. It will bring back _such _memories!"

Mrs. Hudson nodded and offered him a cup and saucer. Mycroft accepted and settled himself into a nearby chair, while his host seated herself opposite and sipped daintily at her tea. "And what color would he like the wallpaper to be?"

"Sherlock has always been fond of hot pink."

"Oh, my! It may be hard to find that type of wallpaper, dear."

"Then I suppose some shade of brown would do. But make sure it's super-frilly."

"Of course, dear."

"Knock that off. I am not anyone's _dear._"

"Certainly, love."

Mycroft Holmes hated overly sappy people.

He checked himself. This lady would carry out his well-laid plot, for which he could forgive any pet names she chose to give him. Sherlock, in fact, absolutely hated any color on his walls, much less any such beatific designs that Mycroft had suggested. But it would be too late for him to change the wallpaper, and he would just have to fake absolute delight with the place so as not to risk being kicked out for offending the landlady's hospitality.

Mycroft chuckled to himself in a dark, evil manner, which he often envied villains for getting to do. Was this what being a villain was like? Sabotaging his little brother's flat with girly wallpaper? His grin widened. Yes. Yes it was.


End file.
